


Too Little, Too Late

by xoxoMouse



Series: PJO Personal Canon (General) [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: And we will also be exploring: Hating our parents <3, Angst, As always FUCk the gods, As always please vacate the fic if you picture Clarisse as skinny, Camp Half-Blood, Canon Compliant, Claiming, Clarisse Prequel story WHEN? Now., F/F, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, I am always thinking about the campers that joined the titan army :), I doubt anyone but me actually wants this but here it is anyway, In this story we will be exploring the subject of falling in love with your bff (gay), Mark Torrid (not an oc i just gave him a last name), PJOverse, Pre-Canon, canonverse, chb, pre battle of manhatten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxoMouse/pseuds/xoxoMouse
Summary: A snapshot of Camp Half-Blood pre-pjo through the lens of Clarisse la Rue.
Relationships: Silena Beauregard & Clarisse la Rue, Silena Beauregard/Clarisse La Rue
Series: PJO Personal Canon (General) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979693
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Too Little, Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans for two more parts to this story but for now it'll have to be a standalone. I can't wait to post it until it's sisters are ready I physically can't help myself.

Silena was everything to her. Her second biggest regret was realizing it too late. 

Silena had been with her from the very moment she got to camp. Hedge had helped her bloody and bruised across the border that would keep her safe from monsters as long as she stayed within its boundaries. Those things that had been attacking her family were real reach-out-and-touch-you _-monsters._ Monsters were real and so were the gods. She was the daughter of a god. _She_ was the reason her family had been in danger ever since her birthday. Hedge brought her right to the porch of the Big House to disinfect her cuts. That’s when she met Silena. 

Clarisse was staring at the worn wooden planks of the steps when two ratty sneakers came into view. 

“Hi,” the girl said softly. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m glad you made it.” Her voice was high and squeaky and when Clarisse looked up to her face she decided the voice matched it pretty well. 

Her big eyes were tawny brown, the kind a black cat turns when it sprawls out in a patch of sun. She had straight-cut bangs and two pigtails on either side of her head. She looked shy but managed to smile at Clarisse; so Clarisse did her best to smile back. 

“Thanks,” she murmured and winced when Coach Hedge pressed an alcohol soaked cotton swab to the cut on the back of her neck. 

The girl sat down on the step below her on the porch, a large cream-colored box with a pretty pink bow tied around it on her lap. 

“My name’s Silena,” she said and Clarisse noticed that when she spoke fast she lisped her S’s. “Wanna chocolate?” 

Clarisse nodded hesitantly and Silena smiled, bigger this time and less self-conscious. She slipped the ribbon off the box and handed Clarisse a small round bonbon. “Coconut,” she said. “Belgian. My Daddy works in a chocolate shop in the city.” 

It melted sweet and creamy on her tongue. She didn’t even feel it when Coach Hedge pressed the swab onto the next cut. 

“This is _really_ good.” 

Silena handed her another chocolate, this one square and deeper in color. They sat there on the porch until Coach hedge was done bandaging her up and the box of chocolates was gone. Other campers dropped in sometimes to check out the new kid, but Silena was the only one who stayed with her until Chiron stole her away to show her properly around camp. Before he could, though, Silena reached out to tie the sparkly ribbon in a bow around Clarisse’s wrist. 

“We’re friends now,” Silena told her. 

So they were. 

*** 

The two of them had bunk beds on the second floor of Cabin 11. Every night for months they stayed up whispering long after they should have been asleep and more than once one of them woke up half-sitting up in the other’s bunk having forgotten to climb back to their own before they were too tired to bother. 

One night near the end of Summer Clarisse was teaching Silena how to hang upside-down off of the top bunk when they saw the stream of a flashlight coming up the steps ad quickly scurried back beneath their covers, forgetting the top bunk was Silena’s and the bottom was Clarisse’s in their haste. 

Hermes Cabin head counselor Luke Castellan shined the yellow light on them, looking very unamused by their fake snores and stifled giggles. 

“Listen,” Luke said (frank but not scolding.) “Bedtime is jank. I get it. I really don’t mind if you two stay up a little late. It’s none of my business if comics are read under blankets by flashlight or if someone loses their piggy bank savings over go-fish.” 

Their overflowing giggles interrupted his sentence and he cracked the smallest smile. “But keep it down,” he stressed. “Us elderly teens need our beauty sleep, we can’t all be on a perpetual sugar rush like you two.” 

Silena nodded. “Okay, Luke.” 

“Yeah Luke,” Clarisse agreed. “We’ll be quiet now.” 

He nodded his approval and right before he turned, shot them a knowing wink, securing his status as the coolest counselor at camp. 

Silena gasped, reaching out for her teddy bear and not finding it. She scrambled back up to her bunk and shook Clarisse’s shoulder in her excitement. 

“Did you see that?” She whispered. “He winked at me. He’s in love with me; I can tell.” 

Clarisse gagged. “He could be your _brother.”_

She pouted. “He’s not. I just know it, trust me.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Clarisse shifted to go back to her own bunk when Silena’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Stay?” 

So she did. 

*** 

Cabin 11 was way less fun after Silena was claimed. They still saw each other during the day, but they couldn’t eat at the same table anymore and it was too quiet at night for Clarisse to fall asleep easily—and there was no one there for her when she woke up from one of her nightmares, which were becoming all too frequent. 

The days were getting shorter. The end of Simmer had been looming over their head for some time as more and more campers left to start school wherever they lived the other nine months of the year. But it wasn’t fall yet, and no one was going to stop Clarisse from having one last swim at the lake with her best friend before Silena went back to the city. 

Truthfully, the wind _was_ a little chilly to be swimming but the water was warm and as long as she stayed as submerged as possible the air didn’t have the chance to chill her wet skin. Silena was happy to float on her back, arms outstretched and her fingertips bobbing in and out of the water. Her pink and purple flowered swimsuit was easy to spot when they were playing shark and Clarisse had to sneak up on her from underwater (but the oversized camp shirt she wore to swim didn’t make it any harder to spot her, either.) They were done with that, though, now they were resting before lunch. 

“Are you gonna try to go home at all, Clary?” 

Clarisse was paddling in small circles, only her eyes above the water as she thought about how close her family had come to being hurt before Coach Hedge took her away from them and brought her to camp. 

She popped up above the water to answer. “I dunno. I don’t think so.” She sighed. “Whoever my Dad is, I _stink_ to monsters because of him. I don’t want my Mama to get hurt because of me...” 

Silena’s arms were around her, wet hair against her neck as she hugged Clarisse tight. “It’s not your fault,” She told her. “It’s not any of our faults the monsters come after us. It's our parents.” 

“Don’t say that. You heard what Luke said, the gods know when we scrape offerings into the fire and they know when we’re talking about them—especially if we say something bad.” 

“Only if we say their _names._ Besides, how can your Dad know we’re talking about him if he hasn’t even claimed you yet?” 

Clarisse stifled a wince. Silena was still holding her at arm's length and her pink painted nails were starting to leave little crescent shaped indents in her shoulders. Suddenly she was uncomfortable, her nose was cold from the breeze, her blood was the same temperature as the chilled lake mud between her toes, and the white puffs of clouds they’d been finding shapes in earlier had amassed into a dull grey sheet blocking out the blue of the sky. Silena’s eyes were sharp and glassy; it was like she was looking right through her. 

“You’re hurting me.” 

“Sorry!” Silena squeaked, retracting her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I won’t again I just... You should have been claimed by now. Your father is lucky to have you as his kid.” 

Clarisse nodded. She wanted to stop talking about this now, she wanted to get out of the water before it got any colder. 

“I’ll be claimed,” Clarisse said confidently even though she knew there was no guarantee it was true. She might never know who her father was. 

Silena nodded. “You will,” she promised. “I can feel it.” 

Clarisse walked Silena to the camp’s borders, carrying her suitcase up the grassy hill while Silena pulled her roller backpack behind her. They stopped at Thalia’s Pine, the symbol of safety at Camp Half-Blood, and paused before she started the trek down the dirt road where her father’s car waited. He wouldn’t be able to see them through the mist, not until Silena stepped outside the border. 

“You’ve got my address?” Silena asked, tugging nervously at a Dutch braid one of her brothers had done during lunch. She still smelled like the breeze rolling over the lake. 

“Yes.” 

“And my phone number?” 

Clarisse nodded, showing Silena her palm where she’d scrawled the nine-digit number after they’d changed out of their swim clothes. 

“And my email?” 

“Yes!” Clarisse rolled her eyes but she also giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ll write _every_ week, I promise.” 

Silena threw her arms around Clarisse and held her tight. She was gentle now, all of the edges she’d seen at the lake had been sanded back until the Silena she knew was all that was left. 

“I’ll write you every week, too,” she said, words muffled as she spoke them into Clarisse’s shoulder. 

Clarisse didn’t say anything. All of a sudden her throat was tight and her eyes were stinging. She knew if talked she’d start crying and wouldn’t be able to stop. She buried her face in Silena’s hair instead. She wasn’t even allowed to walk her down to the car, she had to watch her from beside the trunk of Thalia’s pine as she left. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

So Clarisse waited. 

*** 

The Summer heat melted into early fall frosts. They sent letters every week just like they promised. Clarisse put the most brilliant orange leaves in her envelopes unaware they all arrived crumbled and Silena sent packets of hot chocolate. Silena told her about her school and how much she loved English even though it seemed like it took her twice as long to read the stories as everybody else. Clarisse wrote about how one of the pegasi, Blackjack, kicked her in the shin while she was grooming him and how she’s pretty sure Luke has been sneaking out at night to meet someone but she isn’t sure who it is yet. 

Clarisse kept all her letters in a chocolate box beneath her pillow and could hardly sleep Monday nights knowing Silena’s letters or calls always came in on Tuesdays. That was the reason she was up so early that morning, she hadn’t been able to sleep. 

She tied the pink ribbon around her wrist, slipped a jacket on, and crept out of Cabin 11 before anyone else was even awake. 

The sun wasn’t even fully in the sky when she stepped out onto the frosted grass. She drew in a breath of crisp, cold air and exhaled a cloud of fog. Everything was tinted blue by the dawn as she made her way to the amphitheater. 

She liked training there the best. The ground was flat in the center that acted as the stage, which meant she didn’t have to worry about divets in the grass her foot could get caught in and twist her ankle. The seats rose up in the tiered benches she could run up and down as practice for fighting someone standing above or below her. And her absolute favorite: Spear throwing. If she stood on the top tier of benches she had a clear, perfect view of the training dummies set up on the stage. 

Luke didn’t let her throw spears when the amphitheater was full. He didn’t want her throwing off-kilter and hitting another camper. She didn’t want to hurt anyone either. Training when she couldn’t sleep was the way she’d been finding the opportunity to practice without anyone around to find out. 

The spear whizzed through the air and struck the dummy right through the throat. She grinned, about to rush down the steps to retrieve it and throw it again when she heard the distinct clap of hands from behind her echo through the amphitheater and back up to her ears. 

It was Luke. He was behind her, clapping and smiling with a twinkle of pride in his eyes. 

“Nicely done,” he said. “Is this where you’ve been going in the mornings?” 

She nodded hesitantly. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt...” 

“And no one did,” he reassured her. “You’re a good soldier, Clarisse. I’m proud.” 

She scuffed her foot in the wet grass. Silena thought Luke was dreamy. Clarisse hadn’t seen it before, but... well, he had a nice smile. 

“Am I good enough to practice while the other campers are around?” she asked. 

“Are you?” 

“Yes,” She answered immediately, rightly confident in herself. “Absolutely.” 

He nodded. “I trust your judgment.” 

He pulled a dull sword out of the bin of practice weapons around the top tier and threw it to her. “But that doesn’t mean you can slack on your sword practice.” 

She caught it by the hilt and shot him a grin. “You’re on.” 

*** 

She was still calling Camp Half-Blood and Cabin 11 home in January when Silena’s birthday rolled around. They wouldn’t be able to see each other, but that wouldn’t stop her from sending her best friend a present. One of the older kids in the Athena cabin, Polly Mace, was a crafts legend and had been teaching her to make friendship bracelets. She also showed her how to make a little kitten stuffie out of the fuzzy orange socks they sold in the camp store (which she stole) and how to close the seam after she stuffed it (with cotton she pilfered from Connor’s pillow,) she had just tied the pink, purple and blue zig-zag bracelet around the cat’s neck when she heard the commotion downstairs. Her eyebrows furrowed—everyone was supposed to be at the dining pavilion right now. She left Silena’s present behind on her bunk and dashed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. 

Chris Rodriguez was being lifted off the ground; the front of his orange shirt was bunched in Stephen Grove’s meaty fist and Chris was obviously out of his depth against the fifteen-year-old. 

Clarisse didn’t ask questions. As soon as she saw Stephen shake Chris she was launching herself at the older boy, the full weight of her crashing into his back and making him stumble forward. His grip loosened enough for Chris to slip out but Clarisse didn’t notice, she was too busy scrambling up Stephen’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck in the choke-hold Luke had taught her. 

Poor Stephen was really no match for her, not when she was able to get the drop on him like that. When he couldn’t shake her off, black leeched into the edges of his vision and he toppled to the floor. When Clarisse finally stood she was panting and the cold adrenaline was still racing through her veins. Chris was staring in wide-eyed surprise at the blacked-out teen the ten-year-old had just taken down. 

“Hey,” Clarisse panted. “You okay?” 

“Y-yeah,” he squeaked. 

“Why’d he grab you like that?” 

Chris gulped and threw a pocket knife to the ground, raising his hands and backing away from her. She faltered. 

“You stole from him?” 

He gulped, hands shaky with fear on fumbling legs. 

Stephen groaned on the floor and Clarisse dropped to his side. She panicked as a glow lit up the room, falling across Stephen’s face and tinting everything red. 

She ignored it, focusing now on the boy she’d brought down. He blinked, groaning when Clarisse helped him into a sitting position. 

“I’m sorry Stephen,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what was happening, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Clarisse,” his voice was shaky but a grin was growing on his face. “Clarisse, look.” 

She followed his eyes upward to the (symbol of crossed spears encircled by barbed wire.) It was red like the coals in the depths of the bonfire in the mess hall and angrier Mr. D after he lost a game of Pinochle. 

“Ares,” she whispered reverently. 

Stephen wrapped his burly arms around her, any indiscretions her choke-hold may have caused forgotten in the red-hot glow of the symbol shining above Clarisse’s head. He hugged her with everything he had, his pride for the girl who had shared his cabin and been like family to him for almost a year overflowing. 

When she looked over his shoulder Chris was gone and it was just the two of them in the red-tinted cabin. 

The realization crashed into her like the blunt hilt of a sword. She let Stephen envelop her in his hug and she let him lift her up onto his shoulders (something no one had done to her since she was four) and rush her to the dining pavilion to show the whole camp before the symbol of her claiming faded. But in the back of her mind, she was ashamed. 

She’d known Stephen since her fist day at camp but she hadn’t even given him the benefit of the doubt when she’d seen something and misunderstood it entirely. She’d brought him down without question, without a second thought—and Ares had claimed her for it. What kind of god was her father? 

A better question would have been: who were her new siblings? She didn’t have time to speculate; she was immediately confronted with the reality of them. 

They weren’t strangers by any means. Clarisse could recognize almost all the kids at camp, she knew almost all their names; but finding out she was related to them was a whole new rodeo. This was her family? This cabin of intimidating kids that she’d known for months and was all of a sudden intrinsically connected to? 

The effect of her claiming was immediate. She was transferred from the shoulders of Stephen Grove to the shoulders of Ares Cabin head counselor Mariluz Cortez. She was a tall black girl with broad shoulders and braces. Mariluz had always been nice to her, but hearing her cheer when she found out they were sisters for the first time it began to sink in that she was moving families. This crowd of Ares kids surrounding her whose faces she recognized but didn’t _know_ would phase her into their inner circle while the rag-tag kids from Cabin 11 phased her out of theirs. No unclaimed kid wanted to stay at Cabin 11 forever, she certainly hadn’t, but knowing that she had to leave now... It would have been bad to cry in front of her new cabin, so instead she raised her fists above her head and cheered with the rest of her family. 

*** 

She hadn’t been sure what exactly to expect when she’d moved in. Ares campers had a sort of reputation for being loud and aggressive. As much as she tried not to think about it, she knew cabin 5 was one of the more daunting cabins to be claimed by. They played rough, and rougher with each other than anyone else. Even though Ares never claimed one of his children until they proved they were ready she was still unsure. Still, anything was better than having to bunk with the Athena kids. Their head counselor was this stuck up, bossy girl who had been in charge for at least a year even though she and Clarisse were the same age and there were older kids in Cabin 6 who could have been in charge instead. She could _not_ wrap her head around it. Plus half of them looked exactly the same, like some kind of blonde haired, grey-eyed cloning experiment gone nerdy. 

The first night in Cabin 5 was surprisingly...cozy, in an odd kind of way. There were six, now seven, year-round campers. There were six steel-reinforced bunkbeds on either wall. Mariluz and Kara had the two closest to the door on either side, Mark and Arnie had top and bottom of the back left and Haru and Sherman shared the middle right. Clarisse’s bunk was across from theirs on the opposite wall. 

When Mariluz showed her in after dinner Clarisse could tell it was all she could do to keep from crushing her new little sister in yet another hug. Clarisse was glad for it, though, the goofy enthusiasm helped take the edge off things. 

There was a folded orange camp shirt with a stuffed boar and house slippers her size piled neatly on her bunk. 

“There aren’t a lot of rules but we don’t wear shoes in here.” 

Clarisse nodded, happy she’d taken the hint and left her boots on the shoe rack by the door with everyone else’s. It wasn’t exactly what she expected, but she could manage it. She set her drawstring bag of clothes and a few personal items on the floor by the nightstand and picked up the boar stuffie. It was carefully constructed and obviously handmade with little tusks, a fuzzy snout, and black button eyes. It was about as long as her forearm and stuffed taut, good for cuddling. 

“A little Borris,” Mariluz told her. “He’s the boar’s head over the door, a gift from Ares. He’s been there since the ’70s and kinda became our unofficial mascot. 

Clarisse placed her Borris down softly on her pillow with a pet down his back. 

Mariluz grinned. “You might be a little old for him but he’s standard issue. Helps keep us safe—so don’t lose him, it’s bad luck.” 

“I won’t.” She pointed to the neatly folded shirt. “I already have some of these, you can use this for someone else.” 

She shook her head and held the shirt up, letting it unfold. On the front was the normal camp Logo: Camp Half-Blood, Long Island Sound, NY with a pegasus in flight. But on the back there was a 5 encircled in barbed wire and the name ‘La Rue’ across the shoulders like a jersey. 

“For capture the flag and other games,” She told her, her smile beaming. “You’re part of the team now.” 

Being part of the team was way better than she could have hoped. Cabin 11 was full of her friends, she had liked living there and she visited often—but Cabin 5 was different. Not entirely better, but different. There were fewer kids, so all of them were able to spend more time bonding. Luke was a good mentor but Mariluz and Kara were her older sisters. Even if she and Haru weren't that close yet, he was still her older brother. Not just that but _she_ was an older sister now. Sherman was six months younger than her and Mark and Arnie were only eight and nine years old. They were already decent sword fighters, sturdy and agile like her, but when they needed help reaching the bows and arrow quivers or wanted a bedtime story, Clarisse was someone they could ask. She’d had to come to camp just after her baby brother was born; she’d never really gotten the chance to get used to him, to learn how to hold him right or how to rock him to sleep. The next time she saw him he wouldn’t even know who he was. Mark and Arnie couldn’t replace him, but they helped her feel less alone. 

Just because they all loved each other didn’t mean everything was hugs and kisses, though. Mark and Arnie were always arguing about something or other that didn’t even make sense to argue about, like whether or not sweet potato fries were real fries (it’s in the _name)_ Sherman and Haru almost only got along when they were plotting retaliation for their prank-war with the Stolls and it wasn’t _really_ game night on Saturday until Kara flipped the Monopoly board and someone pounced on her. Clarisse was by no means immune to this. She, Sherman, and Mark always had at least a couple of nicks or bruises healing from one of their scraps over an arm-wrestling match gone wrong or trying to practice a WrestleMania takedown. Even on the rough days, though, they never went to bed angry at each other. That was one of the rules. Even when Clarisse grudgingly apologized or accepted an apology, she was glad the rule was there. It helped her sleep better at night. 

Spring ushered in a restless anticipation throughout camp. It was all building up to something, Clarisse wasn’t sure what yet—but things in Cabin 5 were heating up much faster than the weather. 

Clarisse got on pretty well with Kara. She was fourteen, three years older, but Kara didn’t treat her like a little kid so Clarisse did her best not to act like one. When they weren’t talking about Capture the Flag strategies or drawing up designs for new weapons Kara was teaching her other things—like how to do your makeup to make boys scared of you. 

Kara knew a lot of ways to keep people from talking to her. She smeared red lipstick around her eyes and lined them in thick black, she wore a patched-up jacket covered in spikes and safety pins, she always had a celestial bronze dagger strapped to her thigh over her ripped jeans. Before Clarisse first moved to Cabin 5 Kara was deceptively soft, only 5’3 with a round face and long strawberry blonde hair. She only went home for a month after the Summer session before she was back, rigid and on edge. She didn’t talk about why she’d had to come back so fast, not with her, but she wasn’t so sure she was ready to know anyway. 

Kara was supposed to teach her how to put on eyeliner without poking herself in the eye this morning before breakfast, but instead she was tearing through Cabin 5 like a cat 4 hurricane. 

“ _Haru!_ " She threw down the covers of his freshly made bunk and searched it fervently. “What did you do with my sketchbook?” She demanded. “I know you took it!” 

“Di imortales!” Haru cursed, leaping up from the card game the boys were playing in the back. “Cut that out, Kara, I don’t have your stupid sketchbook!” 

Her face was red with anger, her teeth gritted. “I told you it was off-limits and now it’s gone, do you think I’m dumb or something?” 

Haru scoffed, picked up the pillow she’d thrown on the floor, and shoved it at her chest. “Or something.” 

Practically growling, Kara jumped him. It was more vicious than she’d ever seen the get before, Kara’s anger overpowering her usual logic and spurring Haru on in retaliation. He reached for a fistful of her hair, just to get her off of him and remembered too late she’d shaved off everything but her bangs and sideburns the day before. That only made things worse; feeling his nails on her scalp sent her into a frenzy. 

Clarisse had been frozen on Kara’s bunk while her brother and sister grappled with each other on the floor. Then she saw the blood and she knew she had to get Mariluz before they killed each other. 

Sherman and Mark carried Haru to the infirmary to get his earlobe stitched up after Kara ripped his earring clean through it. His nose was bleeding and there had been an awful crack earlier when she punched him; he was barely conscious when they lugged him out. Clarisse had tried to help them but Mariluz told her to stay back. 

Mariluz sat Kara on her bunk and was staring her down, deathly quiet. They all argued, they all fought—but not like this. Never like this. 

“What. Happened.” 

But she wasn’t asking Kara; she was asking Clarisse. 

She gulped. “Kara lost her sketchbook,” She told her, squaring her shoulders to keep from cowering instead. “She said Haru took it. He said he didn’t. He shoved her, she punched him.” 

Her head snapped back to Kara, her eyes narrowed. “You broke our brother’s nose over a sketchbook?” 

“No!” Her nostrils flared. “He tried to grab me by the hair.” 

Mariluz’s expression faltered into understanding for a split second before it vanished again. “Clarisse, take Arnie to breakfast. We’ll be there soon.” 

But they weren’t. And when Clarisse snuck out of sword training two hours later to check on them she could hear them screaming at each other from the front steps. She couldn’t stop herself as she silently crept up the porch and pressed her ear to the door. At first, she couldn’t make out any words, just shrill voices and sobs. Then she picked out the words they kept repeating: _wrong, dangerous, how could you?_

It culminated with Kara’s broken voice shouting so loud Clarisse was able to hear every word. 

“What else could I do?” She shrieked. “No one else was there to protect me. Not even Ares. Aren’t gods supposed to know everything, see everything? Tell me why the fuck he let that man hurt me! Give me one good fucking reason and I’ll apologize for designing a weapon that can kill him!” 

Silence. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

The door would have given her a concussion if she hadn’t heard the heavy footsteps and jumped out of the way just as Kara crashed through it. Her face was puffy and red, she had a darkening shiner from Haru’s failed attempt at trying to get her off him. She walked without stopping, her knuckles white gripped the spine of her sketchbook. Clarisse followed silently behind her, 

The dining pavilion was empty when Kara marched up to the bonfire, dropped to her knees in front of it, and dug her hands into the dirt. 

Her scream was guttural, ripped from a raw throat and filling the air with every bit of anguish she’d held inside her since she’d come back to camp. 

Clarisse stopped short, not wanting to get too close, not wanting to interrupt her catharsis. 

“Is this what you wanted, Dad?” She snarled to the flames. “Wanted me to fight my own battles?” She flipped through her sketchbook past pages full of scribbled memories and half-finished works until she landed on a drawing Clarisse had never seen before. It was the plannings for a sword, one-handed, sleek and sharp, half-shaded silver and the other bronze. 

She thrust it into the fire with a snarl of their father’s name, offering it to the god of war. “I swear by the Styx he’ll die by my hand.” 

Clarisse edged closer now, put a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. She shrugged it off. 

They stayed there in silence as other campers showed up at the edge of the pavilion to check on the commotion. None of them dared to get close; word about Haru had already spread throughout camp. 

The daughters of War watched as the flames swallowed the drawing, swallowed the mismatched blade, the hilt, the name printed in block letters above it: ‘BACKBITER.’ 

Kara disappeared after dinner. Clarisse wouldn’t see her for another five years. She wouldn’t see her again until they met on the battlefields of Manhattan. 

*** 

‘Dear Silena,’ Clarisse wrote. 

‘Sorry I didn’t write last week. Things have been... difficult at camp. I’m okay. I don’t know how to sort it all out on paper. I’ll just have to tell you when I see you again this summer.” 

She tried to think of something else to say, anything just to fill the page. She couldn’t. 

Clarisse stuck a postage stamp to the letter and dropped it into the mailbox nailed to the front porch of the Big House. At the last second, she remembered the only decent news there’d been since Kara ran away: Luke was going on a quest. 

But when she ran back to the box to grab the letter out and edit it, it was already gone; it had already been whisked off by whatever winds Hermes used to carry correspondence between camp and the mortal world. She was just seconds too late. 


End file.
